TailSpin - Catherine Coulter [38]
“Hold on, Savich. What about Timothy? I’ve got—”
“He’s still unconscious,” Savich said. “We’re moving him to Washington tomorrow, easier to protect him. Another thing you need to do is put your head together with Rachael’s, make sure she gets all the details down. We’ll look for proof on our end. A few days. All right?”
“For a few days, then,” Jack said. “Rachael?”
“For a few days,” she repeated. “Then I want to come back and take them down.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Savich rose, shook Sheriff Hollyfield’s hand. “Thank you for all your assistance. I like Parlow, Kentucky. The sheriff of Maestro, Virginia, Dix Noble—he’s not more than three, four hours away—is a good friend. You two would have a lot to talk about—he was a detective with the NYPD before he moved to the boondocks. Don’t tell him I said so, but I’d put your brain right up there with his.
“We’ll keep in touch. Sherlock, you and I are going to spend the night near the hospital. Besides seeing Dr. MacLean, I want to see if our shooter, Roderick Lloyd, still wants a lawyer.”
“And here I’d counted on spending the night at Greeb’s B&B,” Sherlock said, “falling asleep with that stuffed duck’s head staring at me.”
Roy Bob was the wounded hero of Parlow. By the time he stepped out of the clinic, arm in a sling, both he, Rachael, and the gunman who’d shot up his garage were major celebrities.
Everyone wanted him to tell what had happened in the garage that day. He was strutting around in his bay, fiddling with Rachael’s Charger despite having his painful arm in a clumsy sling, half a dozen citizens marveling at his strength and stamina, when Jack and Rachael walked in.
“Hi,” he called out, buzzed on pain meds, happy as a clam. “Not much longer here, Rachael. I was telling all the guys you said you’d shoot me if I didn’t get it done fast. You know, Ted has offered to give you a free car wash.”
“Not enough time. We want to leave in an hour. Can you do it, Roy Bob?”
“Sure thing.”
“Did you really shoot that thug, ma’am?”
“Yes, I really shot him. He’s in the hospital, but he’s evidently not as stupid as I thought, since he won’t talk at all.”
They were quiet a moment, listening to the helicopter flying overhead.
“The FBI agents are leaving?”
Roy Bob nodded. “Yep, two of them. Agent Crowne here is staying to protect Rachael.” He paused, frowned. “I don’t think she needs it, though, like I was saying, the way she handled my pa’s Remington.”
Jack checked Roy Bob’s progress under the hood. “Looking good, Roy Bob. Why don’t we have Tony’s meatloaf at Monk’s Café, Rachael, then come back here in about an hour?”
“Sounds good,” Roy Bob said, and he started singing about a man and his hunting dog, Ralph. His audience seemed rapt.
An hour later, Rachael was driving out of Parlow, Jack belted in beside her, only a dull ache in his head. “We have about an hour of daylight left. That’s more than enough time to get us to Slipper Hollow and Uncle Gillette’s house.”
Jack found he appreciated the mountains more on the ground than he had with his plane on fire in the air. The road that led to Slipper Hollow was a well-maintained two-way blacktop. It rose and twisted back on itself, skirted boulders and cliffs, but continued to rise into the heart of the mountains. It was slow going because of all the sharp turns and steep falloffs.
“This is the end of the road,” Rachael said as she pulled the Charger onto the shoulder and steered carefully into a thick mess of cottonwoods. “You’d have to be looking hard to see the car in here. We’re pretty well hidden. This is why I wanted to keep the Charger dirty—better camouflage.”
Jack grunted, got out of the car, and picked up fallen branches and leaves. He covered the car as best he could. He turned to smile at Rachael. “Even if the bad guys know about Slipper Hollow, I doubt they’d find it anytime soon. We’re losing sun fast. Lead the way.”
They walked for about a hundred yards, deep into the woods, winding